


A Little Thing

by Alastael



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Blood, Implied Relationships, Implied Violence, M/M, cliches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 23:16:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10559350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alastael/pseuds/Alastael
Summary: A Lesson





	

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, I wrote a small Deacon/Wander fic on my phone. This is it.

It's the little things, Nora had always told him, arms tight around his waist as he avoided the mirror every morning. 

Little things. Small gestures. You probably don't even think they mean anything.

That's not always true. They're just easier to recognize when you aren't doing them every day.

Little things, like the way He smiles under dark sunglasses when Wander starts to recognize him. The way his hip pops when they talk. The way they stand too close when He lights his cigarette, His hand cupped close enough that Wander feels the heat radiating off of His skin. 

The creeping discomfort he feels when He chirps, "you're good at this. Maybe too good," and his fingers slide on the grip of his sledge as he swings it. There's blood on his hands, on his face. Wander watches the cracked earth pass below his feet, pointedly ignoring the way concern creases His forehead, the way He frowns at Wander's back.

 

Little things, like the day He decides He's had enough of Wander bashing in skulls. "We're going to try something new, sport." His arm around his shoulder as He leads him to the riverwalk, beer bottles set up on the brick fence. Their own little shooting galley. 

Wander snorts, "And you're going to teach me what the army couldn't." 

"Of course," His grin is too wide, too white, and Wander remembers an exhibit about sharks he saw in a past life. "My incentive package is much better." 

"We'll see," Wander mumbles as He hands over the rifle.

The first clip empties, and every bottle is still there. 

Little things, like the way He presses himself against Wander's back, steadying his already shaky grip. 

They hit one. 

"Hey, not a bad start. I guess. I bet you could hit a mirelurk. Queen. Maybe. That's somethin', right?" He is entirely too close still, inches from Wander's face as he takes the rifle back. "You can go smash the rest if it makes you feel better."


End file.
